If Only They Understood
by The Smiling Shadow
Summary: If only they understood things would have been different. If only they knew. So much left unsaid. Smith meets Jones and Brown in Exile, only to copy them, kill them. It could've been different though. If only they understood.


"No! No! Jones!"

Brown rises from the floor he knows so well. The cold floor, the only safe place he was able to sleep, the only place that was left for him now. He reaches his hand out towards Jones, who now has a blank stare, his mouth slightly open ready to scream. Jones was backed into the wall, and his neck was enwrapped in one hand that was begining to choke him. Brown begins to run towards him, only to find that he can't move.

"Let go of me! Jones! Jones!"

He reaches for Jones, trying to get to him, trying to help him, trying to make it better again. But the hand he reached out to was grabbed, and twisted back. Hands now reached for Brown, pulling him back to the wall and floor. Grabbing him by the legs and arms, jacket and tie. Grabbing him by the neck and head.

"Jones!"

Jones now rested his head side ways, giving up and allowing the cold to come in. There was now a hand piercing his chest, and darkness coming from that hand... It was cold, Jones had never felt the cold... Brown told him he was cold at night, and he had to get him blankets...But he himself had never felt the cold. He now understood why Brown shook sometimes at night when he slept.

"Jones!"

Jones grabbed the arm of the hand that pierced his chest, and looked at the face that he thought he knew so well.

"Smith..." Jones whispered.

Smith slightly looked up.

"Please stop...it hurts..." Jones pleaded.

"No! No! Stop it! Stop it!" Brown yelled across the room.

The darkness that comes from Smith's hand now reaches and crawls up Jones' neck.

"What choice do I have, Jones?" Is all Smith says.

And slowly, Jones' grip loosens, and his hand falls away. He raises his head, as the darkness now crawls up his cheek.

"Jones!" Brown yells.

Brown thrashes as five copies of Smith restrain him. Two holding his arms, two holding his legs, and one holding him by the neck. And still he fights them, trying as hard as he could. The little Agent finally rising up. But it was too late. Jones turns to Brown, his gaze calming the little Agent. Jones smiles, as if everything will be okay. Then the darkness covers his eyes so he can't see, and covers his mouth so he can't say goodbye.

And then no longer is it Jones, but it is just another Smith. Another person fallen, with a mask put over their face.

And somehow, Brown feels as if a part of himself just died. He stops screaming, and stops thrashing, and slowly the copies let him go. He just stands there, staring at the copy that once was Jones. Slowly Brown begins to shake.

The copy grins, as if enjoying Brown's reaction. That is when Smith turns to Brown, walking up to him. Brown lowers his head, too disgusted to even look at Smith. Smith stands there fore a moment, before grabing Brown by the face and raising him to look at him.

"You killed him..." Brown says shakily.

Smith says nothing, as he lifts his hand out towards Brown's chest.

"I can't believe you killed him."

Smith pauses for a moment. He does not lunge his hand into the little Agent's chest like he has done so many times before. He is slow and gently, placing his hand flat over his chest, feeling what could have been a heartbeat. He remembers Brown, how delicate he is, how many times he was left with Jones as his only protection. He remembers how fragile Brown is.

"I don't want to die..."

Smith frowns.

"Neither do I." Is Smith's reply.

Brown stares up at him, and Smith wonders where his sunglasses are. Then gently, Smith pushes his hand on Brown's chest, pushing past the human shell, and going into the coding, where the darkness begins to form. Brown takes a deep gasp, shocked from the cold the darkness brings. Brown begins to choke for air, as he grabs Smith's arm with both hands, squeezing it tightly from the pain.

Poor little Agent.

He leans over Smith's arm, as the darkness crawls up his spine to his neck, and up his face...

"Brown...You know I am sorry." Smith whispers to him, pulling Brown closer.

Brown gasps for air, as Smith's hand is pushed further into his chest. But Smith continues to pull him closer, to the point Brown now rests his head on Smith's shoulders, feeling almost familiar. And Smith leans down to Brown's ear, as the darkness begins to cover his face.

"Think of it as becoming part of a greater purpose...Brown..." Smith whispers.

The copies tilt their heads.

"It hurts..." Brown shakes, and his grip hardens over Smith's arm.

"I know. Everything will be okay, Brown. You'll be with Jones soon, now." Smith whispers.

Brown shakes, as his tears begin to fall from his eyes to the ground. And then just as Jones, his grip loosens on Smith's arm, and his breathing slows. Smith looks up now, smiling. The darkness covers Brown's eyes so no more tears will fall, and Brown's hands fall to his sides. It's so cold... Brown's mouth is still untouched, as he gasps and tries to speak, tries to beg for life.

"Why couldn't you have just been deleted?" Smith asked him.

Brown opened his mouth, but it was soon covered by darkness.

Slowly, Smith takes out his hand from the chest, and it is now another Smith that rests on his shoulder. The copy looks up, and backs away from Smith, who now smiles at the copy that was once Brown.

The copies begin to leave now, oddly enough the two copies that were once Jones and Brown seem to reunite in a sense. Smith watches them, and it makes him smile.

He is left alone in his room now. Well it was actually their room. Smith had found his two former accomplishes running from Agents. He saved them in a sense, knocking them both out and placing them here, where they stayed for three days under the watch of his copies. To his surprise he was informed that they slept at nights, well Brown did anyway, Jones stayed up and stood guard. It was their room, where the copies would tilt their heads at them, wondering who they were, and why he had made them watch over them so carefully.

It was only last night Smith was reunited with them. They spoke briefly, and to Smith's...disappointment they were happy. They smiled, and laughed, and wanted to know what had happened to him. They were...so human.

But that was all over now.

They never were like him, he doesn't know why he expected them to understand. They never understood him, they never would. It had to end like this.

Then why... Why did they seem so much happier them him? Using happy lightly of course...

It didn't matter anymore it was over.

They were never like him, he shouldn't have expected them to. He should have known this would happen. He should have realized they would fall into human emotions once free of the Mainframe. He should've known they'd be like this.

Why couldn't they have just gone to the Mainframe? Why couldn't they have been Agents and gone to go get deleted? Why couldn't they have just stayed with the Mainframe? Why couldn't they had just died? Why did he have to do it? Why did he have to watch them die by his own hands? Why did they have to plead for life?

They never even knew life! They never understood it! And as soon as he leaves them, they finally understand! As soon as he leaves them, they finally catch up to him!

Why couldn't they have just gone to the Mainframe? Why did he have to kill them?

Why couldn't they have just left him alone?

Why did they have to smile at him?

Why couldn't they understand?

He remembers a time before all this. He remembers when they were together. When they were equals, connected through the earpieces and Mainframe. Sharing every single thought, every single movement, and breath. He remembers when they were one in three.

Why did he have to be different?

He remembers when he finally started thinking differently than them, and they didn't understand.

He remembers being alone after that.

They didn't even try to be like him. They just didn't understand. He'd run away from them, serve his purpose. And leave them alone, to try and figure out these thougths in his head. They didn't even come for him when it happened. When Neo killed him. They didn't even come for him, they didn't even care. They never cared, they didn't know how to.

They never knew how to do anything.

Smith stands there in the center of their room, his copies waiting for him in the hallway. He lowers his head, no expression crossing his face. He turns his head to the corner he was told that the two of them had spent their time in. And somehow he feels more at peace with them, standing here.

There was so much left unsaid, he didn't want to say it. He didn't want to tell them how much they had hurt him, how much they had never known, and never will know. There was so much he hadn't told them, and so much they had never told him.

It didn't matter anyway. Not anymore at least.

Smith finally begins to leave thier room. He walks at the slow pace he has always walked, when Jones and Brown obediantly followed him. He passes the room 303, giving a simple glance to see a black phone in the room. He turns to glance at the blood on the other side. He says nothing.

He stops by the copies who now stand together at the end of the hallway. The copies that were once Jones and Brown now blend in with the others, and he is not sure which ones they were.

Perhaps that is best.

Smith stops for a moment.

He remembers leaving them alone. Leaving them behind, and going to serve his purpose. He remembers looking at them briefly as they turn to each other, knowing he will leave them behind again. He remembers them.

Jones and Brown.

The only two people he ever felt remotly close to.

They left him as he leaves them. They left him for each other. Why should he expect them to want him now?

They could've been so much more happier with him...If only they understood.

Smith turns his head, they were gone now. They didn't deserve life, they didn't even understand. They never understood. They may have been connected for years and years, they may have fired guns together, they may have been three in one once. But that was a long time ago.

Things were changing, he was changing, and they were too far behind to change again.

Things were different now. He had a new purpose to serve, and there was no room for them. If only they understood. There is no room for them in the world that will soon be his. There was never room for them.

They never understood.

He was alone for so long, they never knew. They may have been there, standing right behind him, but he was alone the entire time. They might as well have never been there. They should've been part of him this entire time. He didn't need them. He had never needed them.

Smith turns his head.

Then why does it feel so wrong when Smith finds no one is there behind him?


End file.
